Iron Rose
by comptine
Summary: Alfred stares at his older brother. They are at war, the third of it's kind to consumes the world. He does not understand why this has happened, but perhaps it has something to do with the crimson-eyed angel that stands beside him.


Alfred stared up at his older brother. While his own breathing was harsh from the recent fight, Arthur had barely broken a sweat. He stepped towards his fallen sibiling, black boot shining in the setting sun.

The leather boot lifted and pressed against America chest, keeping him pinned to the ground while Arthur slowly reached to his holster, pulling out a gun. "Did you think it would end like this Alfred?" He stared down the sight, focusing on the crease between his brother's brows, "Or were you really expecting to beat me?"

Squirming, America tried to sit up but England's boot moved up his chest, pressing forcefully on his throat. Hand scrabbled at the leather but the pressure did not lessen. "A-arthur…" He choked, the world growing hazy, "Listen to me…"

The grin was merciless. "I think we've gotten past the point of negotiations," the shoe pushed harder, making Alfred gag, "_brother_."

Adrenaline suddenly coursed through his veins as his body clung to life. With a snarl, he pushed Arthur off his chest and scrambled to his feet, panting heavily and pulling out his Desert Eagle. Slowly, England straightened, carefully dusting off his black uniform before fixing the gun in his brother's hand with a haughty stare.

Alfred frowned, training the barrel on Arthur's chest. The nation shook his head and crossed his arms, tilting his head as he regarded the gun. "Surrender." America commanded, somehow the order sounding childish.

At this, Arthur laughed. It was cruel, cold laughter, sending shivers down his brother's spine. The gloved hand tensed on the gun, shaking slightly.

"Do you really intend to kill me? Your own brother?" Still smiling, uncrossed his arms, leaving his chest exposed, "Shoot me then. End it all right now. Be the hero."

His hand was trembling violently now. "Arthur… please, I don't want-"

"-to shoot me." He finished for him, arms crossing against his chest as his shook his head in disappointment, "I'm sure. Could we get this over with please? I'm in a hurry and if you're not going to kill me…" He let the statement hang in the air, but America had no move. Slowly, Arthur turned, walking away from his brother. "Too bad really, and here I thought you'd want revenge… oh well, I'm sure Matthew would've understood."

"Shut up!" Alfred screamed at him. He pointed his gun in the air, firing a shot. The sound echoed through the silent wasteland, fading until there was nothing but Alfred's panting. "Don't move you bastard."

England froze mid-stride. He flashed Alfred a wicked grin over his shoulder. "Seems I've upset the _brave_ hero. I'm so sorry. Matthew must still be such a touchy subject for you." He faced his brother, cold green eyes boring into the blue ones, "I'll have you know he said your name before he died. He didn't beg for his life, just looked at me with those eyes and whispered '_For Alfred._' "

"It was pitiful really. He put up quite a fight though. But he couldn't of held forever, my troops far outnumbered his. He died for you, trying to protect his little brother. And how did you help him? By closing off the border and ordering all your troops to retreat. Such a dear, helpful brother, aren't you?"

The next bullet grazed his arm, blood flying from the wound to splatter against the cold ground. Alfred's shoulders were heaving and tears pricked the corners of his eyes. "Don't you dare… You know it wasn't my choice to close my borders."

Arthur had barely flinched as the bullet grazed his skin. The cold smile returned to his face. "Of course, your _President_ made that decision for you. You really shouldn't be blaming his death on me." He continued, glancing at his bleeding arm with disinterest, "It's your fault Matthew had to die. The faster you come to face that fact Alfred, the happier you'll be."

The gun had finally stopped trembling. "I'll fucking kill you." Alfred's cheeks were wet and he rubbed his eyes on his torn sleeve, "How could you Arthur? How could you kill Matt?" He asked, slightly desperate now.

"I did it a hell of a lot faster than you're taking. I know you're not going to kill me Alfred. You had the chance and you've lost it." He said, reaching up with his uninjured arm and adjusting his cap. "Now if you'll excuse me, I believe this has gone on long enough. I accept your unconditional surrender and am pleased to welcome the United States of America in our alliance. I'll be sure to have someone send the papers over. Good day." He began to walk away, black boots leaving a fine trail in the dust.

"Over my dead body…" Alfred whispered, pulling the hammer back and aiming for the small of Arthur's back.

The muzzle of a gun pressed against his head. "Put the gun down." He turned slightly to see a pair of red eyes glowering at him. For a moment, his finger toyed with the trigger. The gun bumped against his head. "Try it. I dare you."

Alfred dropped the weapon, slowly raising his hands and tucking them behind his head. "Turn around." The albino ordered, taking a step backwards, "And don't think I won't shoot. Unlike some people I actually have a pair." Biting back a retort, Alfred turned, facing Prussia.

"What do you think Arthur?" Gilbert called over, "Should I kill him?"

There was a slight shuffling noise behind Alfred. He didn't dare look around though. "I don't think so Gilbert." Arthur said, carefully balancing the Desert Eagle in his hands. "He needs to suffer. Watch his country fall to us, live with the guilt of his brother's murder. Doesn't that sound a little more enticing?"

"You're an evil bastard," Prussia said, smiling at the Englishman and lowering his gun, "You have the honours then."

As Alfred let his breath out, something was brought smashing against the back of his head. He collapsed forward, his ears ringing. Prussia's blurred stood over him, grinning, while England stepped beside him, blood dripping from the handle of Alfred's gun.

His mind flickered and he fell unconscious.

* * *

**Author's Note**

I know I shouldn't be starting another story, but the idea was too appealing.

And what do you guys think of the summary? I'm not sure if I'm happy with it or not, so I'd like some feedback please!


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